


The Wordiness of Dreams

by squidgie



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie
Summary: Wayne likes to fall asleep with his head on Darry's chest, and Darry lost in a book.





	The Wordiness of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: any, any, Since when do you read poetry?  
> Warnings: NOT BETAED!

Whenever Wayne made a commitment to someone, it was like at least part of his life fundamentally changed. When it was Molly, the blonde haired girl with freckles from grade eight, he stopped eating lunch with Darry because that's what Molly said she expected of him. That lasted all of two months because all Molly wanted to do was talk about her hair, her friends, and kiss. Wayne was okay with the kissin' part but wasn't really interested in the gossip. One lunchtime with him sitting, arms crossed, she'd dumped his carton of milk over his head when he finally said, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, woman. Can't you talk about anything else other than gossip? Figure it out."

No sooner had she gotten up and walked away, was Darry there at his table. "Thanks, Dar," he said as Dar dumped a wad of paper towels on his tray.

Same thing with Angie, except it wasn't just him giving up the occasionally tilly. It also meant that Darry moved out, on account of Angie beratin' him every chance she got for him being around all the time. But sure as the barn cats were gonna go at it come Spring heat, Darry showed up on his doorstep the very night he'd dumped Angie, a bottle of Gus n Bru in his hand, to make sure Wayne was okay.

Only thing that changed when Wayne finally got the courage up to kiss Darry was that Wayne finally had a regular toe curlin' partner again, and when Dar moved into his bedroom, along came his books. Now Wayne knew his new sweetie was a bit of a reader, often seeing his light on far too late at night when they slept in separate bedrooms. But until books started multiplying like a pair of wild Alberta snowshoe hare in the summertime, he had no idea just how voracious an appetite Darry had for readin'.

Normally Wayne kept his own readin' to tractor manuals and other farm implements to figure out how they worked because there was no reason to hire some big, expensive mechanic when he could just as well cuss 'n hit whatever was stuck with a giant wrench until it worked again. He paid no mind as to what his sweetie read, but it was the covers of whatever Darry brought to bed that caught his eye. Sometimes it was some futuristic-looking city. Sometimes it was a half-naked character, sometimes male, sometimes female, with weird looking lights around them. And sometimes he couldn't see the cover for the plastic that covered whatever the book 'sposed to look like, put there by the Letterkenny town librarian. Those intrigued Wayne more than they should because it let his mind wander about who had the book last, who might read it next. Plus, there was something about public libraries that always turned his crank. Probably reminiscent of when Molly would drag him between the stacks and let him touch her boobs.

Wayne fell into bed, exhausted. Not only were there the regular chores, but he'd had to rebuild the chicken coop after a coyote pert near tore half the wiring off and managed to snatch a couple of his best layers. 'course theirs weren't any normal chicken coop. Theirs held two hundred chickens, and Darry and Dan had done a little automation that opened the coop at sunrise and shut it at sunset every day. It let the chickens roam about when they wanted, but they knew to get back into the coop before sunset, lest they end up in some critter's belly.

After sitting there a couple minutes, Wayne couldn't get comfortable and realized it was because Darry wasn't there with him. Not that he needed Darry to sleep at night, but he was so used to Darry's body heat, used to resting his head and falling asleep to the sight of milk-smooth skin rattled with the occasional freckle. "Dar," he called. "You comin' t'bed?"

The screen door slammed, and there were footsteps out on the porch, followed by the truck door slamming, and heavy footfalls back into the house. Darry double-timed it up the stairs and walked into the bedroom, a red book in his hand. "Forgot my libry' book," he said as he waggled it back and forth. And then instead of going around, he climbed over the bed, pausing to kiss Wayne, then gave his horn a quick squeeze. Wayne happily kissed him back, and when Darry settled down and got comfy, then lifted his arm, Wayne put his head on Darry's chest, smiled as Dar's arm went around him protectively. He was finally comfortable enough to close his eyes.

Wayne lulled there for a bit and came to probably half an hour later. "What'cha readin', Dar?" he whispered.

"Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman," he said, showing Wayne the page, then went back to his book.

"Since when do you read poetry?" Wayne asked through a yawn. But before Darry could answer, he asked, "Read me some?"

Wayne heard, but also felt, each word as Darry read to him out loud. He put a hand on Darry's chest, enjoying the rise and fall with each word, each breath. And that night, he fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep rich with fields of barley, freckles, and curly hair tangled in his fingers.


End file.
